


What's Worth More Than Gold

by walkinqinstarliqht



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Canon-ish, Hallucinations, Insanity, if you look really close you might find some angbang, mairon's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 20:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4113705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkinqinstarliqht/pseuds/walkinqinstarliqht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Mairon forged the One Ring in memory of his Master and how its loss drove him mad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Worth More Than Gold

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason I thought it's a good idea to read "This Game We Play" again haha  
> But while reading the first chapters I got sad headcanons and then this happened...
> 
> I'm sorry.
> 
> BETA'd by [Celine](http://sadgaytrashbucky.tumblr.com/)  
> And as always comments/kudos are very welcome!

Back in Valinor, when he was still a servant of Aulë, he didn't really like gold. It was easy to bend and very fragile, futile for tools that were used to create and form the world.

 

But his reluctance for gold changed as soon as his eyes first met those of Melkor.

Never before had he seen such vibrancy, such puissance. The Vala's eyes weren't fragile but powerful and determined, and for this he admired them more than anything.

 

Painful was the day when he saw those eyes for the last time, a mere spark of golden glimmer that found it's way through the Doors Of Night, before they were closed forever.

But still, even in these last moments, the strength never left them, and this strength was the only reason that he could go on and pursue the legacy of his Master.

 

~

 

With time also his longing became stronger. He could still feel those eyes in his mind, watching him and every move he took, all his thoughts and his desires.

But it wasn't enough.

 

With each passing year the memory faded. Even though he desperately tried to hold onto it, the golden radiance slipped from him like ashes that were carried away by the wind.

 

Thus he forged the One Ring.

 

He created it in the depths of Amon Amarth and put in it what memory of his Master was left, and when it was done, it was filled to the brim with might. It's aura was like Melkor's, divine and powerful, and when he wore it he felt like his Masters very blood ran through his veins, and finally those golden eyes were back, and they looked on him with pride.

 

~

 

When the ring was cut from his hand, a part of his soul was ripped apart with it and those eyes were gone, too. The light in his mind was now gone completely and it left a void, dark and ugly like a gashing wound.

 

Not only his fëa was affected by it, but his hröa, too.

 

His form was fair no more. His once golden hair became dull and grey like the ashen clouds over Amon Amarth.

His eyes, once fiery and glimmering like the ambers in his forge, now lay in shadows, and the part of his soul that was left craved for it's other half, and for the golden halo that reminded him of his Master.

 

He couldn't rest, for the void in his head tried to absorb him as soon as he closed his eyes, but neither could he search for the One Ring, because he was weakened too much.

But still he could hear it scream, craving to be part of him again.

 

All he could do was to wait, to focus all his thoughts on his Ring, hoping it would find it's way back to him, so he could see those eyes again.

 

~

 

Soon he could no longer remember their appearance. Only that he they once where his everything, the motive behind whatever he did was to see the approval in his Masters eyes. But now all he could think of was how disappointed He would be.

 

He hated it. Hated to be idle, useless, nothing but a vain shadow of himself. He could feel how they mocked him.

While his Great Eye watched over the lands of Mordor they looked at him and laughed.

 

 _Why did Morgoth choose_ him _to be his right hand? He's useless,_ they said.

 

 _If he knew what Sauron does in his absence, he would be furious,_ they said.

 

 _He is desperate and wants to be like his Master, but he will never be,_ they said.

 

And it turned him mad.

 

~

 

The screams of the One Ring grew louder and louder until it filled the void in his head completely and he could no longer think.

 

His fëa raged within his body, it cracked the skin and shredded his guts, desperately wanting to escape the torture and find release, but it was trapped.

 

At one point he could no longer remember his name or his purpose, only that the Ring, still screaming in his head, wanted to come back to him, yet why, he did not know.

 

~

 

Then came the day when he could feel it's presence within the land of shadows. The screaming suddenly stopped and was replaced by a whisper, barely noticeable. It spoke to him with a strangers voice.

 

 _Mairon_ , it said, over and over.

 

 _Who is that?_ , he asked, but there was no answer.

 

Beside the whisper was something else, a warm, flickering light that blew away the darkness in his mind.

 

It was dim, but compared to the void he felt for millennia it was almost too bright, on the brink of painful, yet he couldn't turn away.

 

It felt familiar, and for some reason it gave him ease. He could see how a shadow appeared behind the light, a silhouette, tall and determined it stepped closer.

 

When it approached the whispering stopped abruptly, and for a moment he feared that the void had come back, but suddenly all the pain he had endured for ages was gone, for a pair of golden eyes was looking at him now.

 

 _Mairon_ , the shadow said, with a voice that rumbled like the earth and burned it's way through his very soul, _that is your name, do you remember?_

 

He shook his head. Even though he wanted to, without the Ring his memories were lost.

 

The shadow spoke again, this time holding up what seemed to be his hand, _Then let me show you._

 

Hesitantly he reached out to grasp it, but when he finally touched it his world was burst into flames.

 

The lava streams of Amon Amarth melted the One Ring and burned what was left of it's puissance. He could feel his lost fëa being consumed by the fire but instead of pain and agony he only felt a soothing warmth.

 

~

 

He could hear the smashing of a hammer on metal and suddenly he found himself in his forge. In shock and confusion the hammer slipped from his hand, but before it could hit the ground it was caught by a black hand.

 

“It's unusual for you to be distracted at work.”, his Master laid the hammer down on the work bench, leaning over his shoulder to glimpse at the piece of steel he was working on.

 

“Maybe you should rest for today. We are having a feast tonight, remember? You should make yourself presentable.”

 

He turned around and saw golden eyes looking at him expectingly, so he nodded. Pleased, his Master smiled.

 

He looked back at himself, slowly slipping out of his leather gloves and apron when he heard his Master speaking again.

 

“Mairon” He called, and only then he realized his Master was waiting for him, His eyes resting on his fair form.

 

Forgotten were the years of grief and hatred, of longing and wrath.

 

One glimpse at those eyes and he knew, that for them he would have endured much more.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I cried lots.


End file.
